


Power Play

by surena_13



Category: Battlestar Galactica, Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:46:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surena_13/pseuds/surena_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After successfully destroying the Resurrection ship, Admiral Cain pays President Roslin a visit. Set during Resurrection ship pt. 2</p>
            </blockquote>





	Power Play

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine.  
> A/N: I decided that between successfully destroying the resurrection ship and getting murdered by Gina, there was more time than shown in the show.

“You would have ripped my fleet apart,” Roslin snarls. “Decimated what is left of the human population, if you would have left anything at all, save for your precious military. I couldn’t allow that.” Helena Cain merely raised an eyebrow, refusing to look at the small woman who even in those heels of hers is still two inches shorter.

 

The president stands close, perhaps a little too close. Their toes are almost touching. Helena can smell Roslin’s faint scent, something that might be lavender combined with something darker, alluring, like the power the president holds. The auburn-haired woman infuriates her to no end, but never fails to intrigue her either. She’s an enigma, one that Helena desperately wants to unravel.

 

“You will look at me when I speak to you, admiral Cain.” Roslin’s tone is sharp, the words almost echo in the deadly silent office. Helena doesn’t move, doesn’t look down. Roslin stands still, unmoving. It’s a power play and Cain doesn’t want to lose, but in the silence she hears the president breathing, feels the air against her skin. She looks down.

 

Narrowing her eyes, she glares at Roslin, the green of the woman’s eyes so clear behind her glasses. Her pale face is framed by a mass of unruly auburn hair, lips slightly parted, the short tirade having worn her out. Helena detects a flicker of fear in the president’s eyes when she meets Helena’s glare. She moves to take a step back, but Cain is quicker than she is.

 

Grabbing a handful of hair, she pulls Roslin close, their bodies touching. Tilting the president’s head back, she leans down and crashes her lips against Roslin’s. The president freezes for a second and makes a surprised sound in the back of her throat before leaning in, lips moving against Helena’s, tongues touching, sliding against one another.

 

Helena sucks on Roslin’s bottom lip, biting down on the soft flesh as the president’s tongue flicks out against her upper lip. Roslin moves to wrap her arms around Helena’s neck, rolling her hips against Cain’s, but before they reach their destination, Helena’s gives a sharp tug on her hair, yanking her head backwards, breaking the kiss in the process.

 

Roslin’s eyes fly open as a small cry of surprise and pain falls from her lips. She grabs onto Helena’s shoulders for support, but Helena grabs her wrists with her free hand and holds them behind Roslin’s back. The president struggles, but she is weak. Cain heard the rumors on her ship of the woman’s illness and she can feel it now, the strength Roslin is lacking.

 

“Still, Madame President, trying to have me killed wasn’t a very nice thing to do. I know you let Adama do the dirty work who in his turn sent Thrace, but I know it was you who started it all. Don’t try and deny it.”

 

“Yes, I ordered your death,” Roslin croaks, her voice rough and weak. She has stopped fighting against Helena’s grip, her arms just hang limply behind her back.

 

“Too bad the old man didn’t have the guts to give the order,” Helena whispers, her lips brushing over Roslin’s ear as she releases the president’s wrists and brings her hand up to caress the woman’s throat, muscles straining underneath the skin. “If you had been in the commander’s place, would you have done it? Would you have gotten  my blood on your hands?”

 

“Yes. I would have pulled the trigger myself, if I could have,” Roslin replies without hesitation. Helena has to chuckle at her brazenness. She knows that the president has been informed of what she did before she found the remnants of humanity. She likes it that even when she has the president at her mercy, the small woman isn’t scared or even intimidated by her.

 

“Perhaps I should return the favor,” she says, dragging  her nails over the exposed throat, twisting Roslin’s hair with the other hand. “Put a bullet between your eyes and be done with all those complications keeping you alive brings.”

 

“Be a waste of a bullet,” Roslin rasps, lips curling up into a smile. “Wait a few weeks and I’ll be dead anyway and you’ll get the pleasure of watching me suffer to my last breath.” The president sounds as if she likes revealing her disease to Helena, as if it’s some personal victory that she will die anyway no matter what Cain decides.

 

“Who says I want to watch you suffer?” Helena whispers, trailing her hand down  Roslin’s throat, slowly opening the buttons of the president’s blazer as she loosens her grip on the auburn hair. Cain can see she has taken Roslin off guard. Of course, the president had expected her to be as merciless as she had been with Gina, to hurt her. How could Roslin know that she was as well versed in the more subtle ways of bending someone to her will as she was in the blatantly obvious ways.

 

She releases Roslin’s hair, allowing the president to raise her head. There’s a small frown on her face, an uncertainty about Helena’s next move. Helena kisses her again, softer, slower this time, placing her hands at the president’s waist, pushing her back against the desk before pressing their hips together. This time when Roslin winds her arms around her neck, she lets her, permits her to run her fingers through her hair.

 

Running her hands under the blazer up the president’s body, she can feel the heat of her skin through the pink fabric of her blouse. Roslin moans when Helena cups her breasts, thumbs brushing against her hardened nipples. The president grinds her hips against Helena’s, seeking friction. Cain can’t help but give in to this dying leader, slipping a thigh between Roslin’s legs, hitching up the skirt.

 

Helena watches Roslin’s face, her eyes closed, lips parted. This started out as power play, about who was going to decide the fate of the fleet. She hadn’t anticipated this. Roslin is dying, so the fleet will be Cain’s anyway in a matter of weeks. Baltar will not stand in her way and Adama, he cares too much about this woman. He will give up his fight when she dies and it will not come back until it’s too late. This isn’t about power anymore. It’s simply a desire to see Roslin come undone.

 

She slides one hand down Roslin’s body, slipping it underneath her skirt, dragging her fingers up the inside of the president’s thigh. The smaller woman rolls her hips, sliding the damp fabric of her underwear over the rough wool of Helena’s uniform.  She removes her thigh from between Roslin’s legs. The president groans at the loss of contact.

 

“Do you want me to frak you?” Helena asks, taking Roslin’s earlobe between her teeth, tugging on it softly as she ghosts her fingers over the soft satin of her panties. Roslin opens her eyes, her pupils dilated. She smiles, but doesn’t speak. She merely traces Helena’s jaw with a fingernail. “I could do it right here. Frak you against your desk. Tell me you want it.”

 

“Frak me, admiral Cain,” she whispers in Helena’s ear, her voice low and sultry, sending shivers down her spine. Pushing aside the fabric of Roslin’s underwear, she drags her fingers through her slick folds, causing Roslin to buck her hips.

 

“Say it again. Say you want me to frak you, Madame President,” Helena says, almost orders. She needs to hear Roslin say it again, needs to hear the perfectly composed schoolteacher turned president say she wants to be frakked.

 

“Frak me, I want your fingers inside me, I want you to make me come and I want you to do it now.” In one fluid movements she pushes two fingers inside the president, eliciting a strangled cry from her. She feels so good around her fingers, warm and wet, ready for her touch.

 

Roslin spreads her legs, giving her more access, as she pushes her hips down on Helena’s fingers encouraging her to frak her, hard. She does exactly that, sliding her fingers almost completely out of her before driving them back in. Roslin throws her head back. Helena can’t resist the urge to nip at the exposed skin with her teeth, leaving tiny red marks.

 

With every thrust of her fingers, a tiny whimper leaves Roslin throat. Her breathing becomes labored as Helena twists her fingers, brushing her palm against the president’s clit. A low moan bounces off the bulkhead as Roslin grabs her shoulders, hissing out names of the gods as Helena’s fingers bring her closer to the edge.

 

“Frak,” Roslin breathes when Cain curls her fingers before pressing her thumb down on her clit, flicking. Two more thrusts and Roslin clenches round her, coming as she bites back a moan. Cain watches her face, sees the pleasure washing over it and for a few moments the president appears to be free of all burdens before she comes back to Colonial One.

 

The expression of content, however brief, is a beautiful sight. But it disappears just as quickly as it appeared. Helena holds her close, ignoring the throbbing between her own legs. She waits for Roslin to open her eyes, before pulling her fingers out and taking a step back.

 

“Thank you, admiral Cain,” Roslin says as she pushes her skirt down her thighs, buttons her blazer and straightens her clothes. Her fingers are trembled, her legs seem barely able to hold her up. This took a lot of energy out of her. It weakened her even more. Helena can see that as the flush ebbs away, her skin is much paler than before.

 

She’s so human, so frail, breakable. But as she meets the president’s eyes, she can see that while her body is giving up on her, her spirit is strong, unbreakable. There is something in the green orbs that demands respect. “That was all,” the president adds and retreats into her quarters. Her steps small, uncertain.

 

Helena watches her retreating form. She came here expecting to win, to bring Roslin to her knees one way or another. But as she wipes the remnants of the presidents arousal on one of those pieces of cloth that cover the headrests, she gets the feeling she lost more than she gained here. Wondering just how much she underestimated Laura Roslin, she walks back to the raptor that’s waiting for her. It’s going to be an interesting few weeks.


End file.
